


The Twelve Days of Collins-mas

by DrWhom1963



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Gen, Holidays, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrWhom1963/pseuds/DrWhom1963
Summary: Join the Collins Family and company on some winter themed nonsense in the final days of December
Kudos: 9





	1. Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> I found a few single word prompts on some random post about different fun holiday/winter themed writing prompts so...here we are.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when your "boss" has deemed modern hot cocoa unacceptable?

**Day 1-** _Hot Chocolate_

Willie Loomis | Barnabas Collins | Mrs Johnson

“A **powder**?!” 

Barnabas Collins’ voice rang out and echoed through the hallowed halls of the Old House. Loud enough to wake the dead, probably. Willie shuddered and looked down at the pathetic little white packet of Swiss Miss hot chocolate roughly torn open in his hands. This is what he gets for trying to do something nice for Barnabas. Tis the season and whatever. Well, really Willie was tired of hearing him lamenting over homemade hot cocoa, and oh the glorious warmth and sweetness that the cooks of the 18th century prepared and how the snowy weather could never feel like a proper winter without it and blah blah and blah some more. 

“Well, yeah Barnabas,” he mumbled, still looking downwards. “That’s how we make it now.”

By Barnabas’ expression you would’ve thought Willie said he spit on his mother’s grave. “A packet of powder,” he sneered, disgusted. “And what else?” 

Willie bit down on his lower lip, hoping that the creaking floor would finally break apart and swallow him up. “...Uh...hot water?” 

“Water.”

Willie nodded and squeezed the offending packet into his fist. “I-I mean, that’s how I make it.”

“Water,” Barnabas repeated. Flatly. “Not even milk.”

“...Do ya want me to make it with milk--”

“I don’t want you to make it all. It sounds abhorrent.” Barnabas scoffed, and strode past the rather embarrassed and annoyed young man. “I’m almost offended.”

“Yeah you would be,” Willie muttered, crumpling up the packet more and slamming it into the nearby kitchen garbage can. 

Barnabas suddenly reappeared in the doorway. “Pardon?”

“N-Nothin’!” Willie said quickly, hands up in surrender.

The vampire simply ‘hmph’-ed, turned on his heel, and once again vanished into the hallway. 

Willie collapsed into a nearby chair with a groan. Why did he even bother? Cause he wanted to be nice? Nah. Clearly it wasn’t worth it. He should’ve seen it coming. Barnabas barely knew what a Christmas was and the thirty minutes Willie took to explain Santa Claus was time he was never going to get back. So why would a genuine attempt to bring tidings of comfort and joy and shit to his fellow man ~~(sorta)~~ go well? No good deed goes unpunished. 

He’d stick to getting him a novelty pocket hanky or some sort of ‘fun’ tie and call it a day. He’d have to find something later. He had to head over to Collinwood anyway and pick up some extra something or other or help fix a window. Still bitter over his cocoa attempts, he roughly pulled on his jacket and headed out into the snowy woods.

It turned out to be a broken window after all. And took two hours longer than it should have. 

Willie slumped into the drawing room. He then crumpled in a small ball on the divan and groaned. Why did Barnabas have t’be a Scrooge when it came to his hot cocoa? Why did he have to act like a damn Grinch too? Willie Loomis was so caught up in his woeful pondering that he was completely oblivious to the fact that someone else had slipped into the drawing room. Until he heard a soft clunk of metal meeting the table. He jolted and turned abruptly, only to find Mrs. Johnson stood there and holding out a mug to him. 

“Uh...what’s this?” he asked. 

“Just take it.”

Willie gulped a little, but did as he was told with no delay. He peered down in the cup and white fluffy clouds of whipped cream looked back. The top of it was dusted in what must have been cocoa, complete with a candy cane sticking off the side by the handle. And all he could bring himself to say was: “ _Wow_.”

Mrs Johnson beamed a little with pride. “Try it. It’s homemade.”

Willie took a sip, and was instantly met with a cascade of flavors. Heck, he didn’t even know what they were. Obviously chocolate but the rest? Who knows! And who cares, it was delicious. “That’s--That’s real good, Mrs J...what’s in it?”

She pondered a moment. “Oh, just the usual. Nutmeg, cinnamon, melted chocolate, milk, peppermint…”

“That’s, ah, usual for ya?” Willie took another sip. Well, gulp, and the whipped cream stuck to the top of his lip. 

“Mhm.” She nodded, and sat beside him, taking the other mug off the tray. “Used to make it for my son all the time. Till he decided he was too grown up for cocoa.” 

Willie gave her a bewildered look. “For hot chocolate?”

“Yes apparently.”

“Uh, no offense, Mrs Johnson but uh…” he looked down into the mug. “Your sons’an idiot.”

Mrs Johnson sighed. “None taken,” her face fell for a moment, but it quickly perked up again. “Well, I’m certainly glad you like it. I figured you needed it; all that work Barnabas Collins has you doing out in the cold.” 

Willie chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “Well I really ‘preciate it. Really. It’s real nice of ya to do.”

She smiled back and clinked her mug against his. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Willie soon polished off the rest of the mug, practically licking any remaining chocolate off the sides of it. He had to get back to the Old House soon anyway. But just as he was about to leave and grab his coat, he whirled around and practically ran back into the drawing room. Mrs Johnson was just finishing up cleaning the little tray. 

“Hey Mrs Johnson? Can I trouble ya for somethin’?” he asked.

“Well, that depends on what it is,” she said, brushing imaginary crumbs off her apron. 

“Could I get a pot of that cocoa t’go?”

It was some time later when Willie returned to the Old House, slightly out of breathe and grinning wildly. “Barnabas!” he called. “Hey Barnabas, I got a treat for ya!” 

And so the man appeared, almost from the darkness, at the top of the stairs. “What is it now, Willie?” 

“Gotcha something. Hot Cocoa.” Willie held up a silver thermos proudly, which made Barnabas frown.

“I already told you--”

“I know!” Willie quickly interrupted. “But ‘s different. You’ll see. Mrs. Johnson made. It’s real good. Promise.” 

Reluctantly the vampire and ~~servant~~ friend headed into the kitchen, where Willie poured out that warm chocolatey liquid into a waiting teacup. He then sat in a chair across from Barnabas, hands on his knees, waiting. Barnabas still looked at the cocoa skeptically, but Willie’s eager excited face urged him to at least take a sip. 

And another.

And another.

“It’s--”

“Th’ best!” Willie finished, leaning back in his chair. “Tastes like heaven, don’t it?”

“It tastes like how my mother made it.” Barnabas said, softly. 

Willie gave Barnabas’s knee a comforting tap. “Well, m’sure it was made with love.” 

“Indeed,” Barnabas agreed with a nod, savoring the taste. 


	2. Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when you're used to a warmer climate?

**Day 2** \- _Blanket_

Roger Collins | Nicholas Blair

The saying ‘When Hell freezes over’ always tickled him. And of course all it’s wonderful variants. ‘It’ll be a cold day in Hell’ was another personal favorite. It was, as all those lovely stories said, very hot in Hell. Though he always found it rather comfortable. Perhaps that’s why he preferred warmer climates when doing his...work. But fate and his master below had decided he would be best used in Collinsport, Maine. Which, while not the coldest location he’d ever had the pleasure of visiting, was still more inclined to the winter weather. 

And he found himself getting irritated by it. 

Could he do something about it? Oh perhaps. The natural elements weren’t exactly beyond his control but it took quite the effort and the results weren’t the most satisfactory. So he would simply have to endure the winter wonderland that Collinsport seemed to offer. 

Winter wonderlands were not what they advertised. Damn the bitter cold. Perhaps his Master ought to consider a change of tactics, because snow was clearly the more torturous of the temperatures. 

And somehow Collinwood seemed to be the bastion of winds and chilly weather. Even though Elizabeth assured him that the great house was centrally heated and had been for several decades. Despite this, Nicholas Blair found himself practically shivering while inside the great house. Even now, in his thickest three-piece suit, he felt the cold practically seeping into his skin. Involuntarily he shivered and rolled his shoulders back, in a weak attempt to get comfortable. 

“Chilly?” Roger asked, a bit amused. The sandy haired Collins was quite relaxed in an ornate chair, brandy in one hand and  _ The Collinsport Star  _ in the other. Not really bothering to hide his widening smile behind his newspaper. 

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps. I’m not exactly used to the Maine climate.” 

“Well, it’s an acquired taste.” Roger retorted, smirking slightly. 

“Perhaps for those of us who have lived here all their lives.” 

Roger closed his paper, folding it onto his lap. “Not all my life, I spent some time in New York and abroad.” 

“Ah yes, the tropical hideaway of New York City. And lest we forget the exotic lands of Boston,” Blair mused, earning him an eye roll but it was a fond one. 

“Well, if you’re really cold, Nicholas, I can fetch you a blanket,” he offered.

The warlock waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Oh, no trouble at all.” Roger rose and dropped the paper on a nearby table. “One moment.” Taking his brandy with him, he vanished somewhere into the foyer and up the stairs. Nicholas wandered around the drawing room while he waited, looking at the faded portraits of Jeremiah and Joshua and Jonah and whatever-other-j-name.

He saw a strange resemblance in Joshua to Roger, but mostly in their stare and chin. But that’s where the similarities stopped. Joshua, as he was told by dear Angelique, was a strict, conservative man who could perhaps out-grump and out-gruff Ebenezer Scrooge. Roger Collins was...well...very much like the winter. Cold and chilled. Stubborn and often unrelenting But with an air of playfulness just hiding under the surface. Full of light and calmness. Detached and yet, adaptable. Perhaps he hadn’t given winter a fair turn. There was a beauty to it, if one just knew where to look.

Roger reappeared with what looked like a knitted blanket folded over his arm. 

It was hideous. Black and the gaudiest of neon colored yarn woven together to make the most disgusting looking afghan blanket created by man or devil. But it was certainly warm looking. “Where on Earth did you find this thing?” Blair chuckled.

Roger rolled his eyes. “Heaven knows. It’s just something we’ve always had, made by a great someone or other. If it wasn’t so warm we would’ve thrown it away years ago.” 

Roger unfurled it, in it’s horrendous glory, and then with one swoop, wrapped it snuggly around Nicholas’ shoulders. “Plus, this house is quite drafty, in the winter, you learn to adapt.” Roger said with a twirl of his fingers. “You’ll get used it to soon enough I assure you,”

“Oh?” Blair’s eyebrow cocked upward, wrapping the admittedly warm threads tighter around his body so it was like a cacoon. He then gracefully sat back down on the divan. “You, anticipate me being around more often, Roger?”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, Roger made a face. “Naturally. I would hope you’d be here often.” 

Blair hummed, almost trying to stifle a chuckle. “Oh of course, because of Cassandra.”

Roger Collins stiffened, suddenly turning and facing the french windows. Nicholas could see the rigidness in his shoulders, his spine. “No. Not because of Cassandra.” 

Blair stood up, moving the blanket so it was draped over his shoulders like a cape. “Ah, you doubt she’ll come back. Never fear, dear Roger. My sister has a bad habit of showing up again like a bad penny.” 

That did nothing to ease the tension in Roger. In fact, it made it worse. 

Ah

“You don’t want her to come back.” Blair stated it like a fact, not a question.

“It’s not that I--I don’t know what I want. Who I--” Roger stopped himself and took a hard swig of his brandy. “I’d rather we drop the subject.” 

“Of course.” Blair said smoothly, softly. Walking closer and closer to Roger until he was right behind him. “I apologize.” 

“It’s alright,” Roger’s voice sounded off. Oddly inflected. Like he didn’t know how to speak properly. 

“Is it?” Blair was slightly shorter than Roger, but no matter. He opened his arms, still grasping the blanket, and wrapped his arms around Roger from behind. And in turn, also enveloping him in the hideous afghan. Nicholas couldn’t exactly place his chin on Roger’s Shoulder comfortably but he managed it. 

Roger flinched, and tried to step away but Blair had his arms firmly locked around Roger’s middle. “Nicholas what are you--” 

“Shh. We’re dropping the subject. And this house seems to me like it could chill the mightiest of Collins.” Blair smirked, allowing the side of his face to rub just slightly against Roger’s smooth cheek. He pretended it was a simple accident, to help him better stare into the frosted covered trees just beyond the wide windows. “My sister is a fool, leaving you so.” He could feel Roger’s face flush. How wonderful. “...I am not a fool.”

“No. No you’re not,” was all Roger Collins could say before he was rendered quite speechless. Nicholas eased his companion back towards the divan, so they could both sit comfortably warm with the afghan around both of their shoulders. 

Roger’s brandy glass emptied quickly after that. But he felt no great urge to leave the blanket’s safety and fetch another.


	3. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Joshua Collins feels his yearly emotion.

**Day 3** \- _Snowman_

Sarah Collins | Joshua Collins | Jeremiah Collins

Sarah was eager to see the first snow of the season. So eager in fact that by the time her mother and father retired for bed, she was still wide awake and sitting by her window. Just waiting and hoping for the darkened sky to open up and let the little white flakes fall. Mercifully, the sky listened to the little girl’s prayers. It was about three in the morning when Sarah practically flew into her Uncle Jeremiah’s room. 

Normally Barnabas would be the first to be leapt upon and dragged out into the winter wonderland. But her older brother was off doing business for their father on some faraway island, so her dear uncle would have to take his place. 

With the assistance of one of the bedposts, Sarah climbed onto the bed and pounced on the sleeping Jeremiah. “Wake up, wake up! It’s snowing!” she cried gleefully, rising to her feet and jumping about, causing the whole mattress to bounce right along with her.

Jeremiah groaned but nevertheless woke, forcing his eyes open to behold his far too energetic niece. “Is it now?” he said roughly. He cleared his throat and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Sarah halted in her jumping and plopped down in front of him. “It is! Can’t we go play now?” 

“Now?” Peering out his window, Jeremiah could see that night had yet to give up it’s reign. “Sarah--” 

Whatever long winded statement about how late it was and how the snow would still be there come morning that the older Collins had prepared to say to her quickly died in his throat upon seeing his little niece’s big bright eager smile and pleading eyes. No wonder Barnabas had a hard time saying no to her.

“ _Alright_.” 

Sarah cheered, embraced him, then darted off the bed and out the door faster than Jeremiah could blink. He chuckled softly to himself. He did not know what this family did to deserve such a light spirited, sweet child like Sarah, but he was certainly grateful. She was a blessing they certainly didn’t earn. 

With a sigh, Jeremiah rose and quickly shoved on his winter apparel, making sure to grab his scarf and gloves and quietly creep down the hall. Joshua would certainly have words for him if he was caught letting Sarah play at this hour. And then Naomi would have words for Joshua and an innocent romp in the winter would turn into something else entirely and he was in no mood for it this day. 

Little Sarah was already waiting by the door. The new fur-lined cloak gifted to her by mother for her birthday was snugly wrapped around her and the leather boots made especially for her by Ben Stokes bounced up and down in anticipation. “Ready, Uncle Jeremiah?” the child asked, hand already on the door handle. 

“Nearly,” he placed his hands on his hips. “Now remember Sarah, you stay where I can see you, no wondering off and when I say it’s time to come inside, you won’t argue, understand?”

Sarah nodded, her smile still big and bright. He didn’t have many reasons to worry, Sarah was a good girl. But she did have a curious streak and was often found in places she shouldn’t be. And the last thing he wanted was to have her lost in a storm. 

“Alright then, shall we?” he held out his hand, which the child took with a tight little squeeze, and off they went. 

It was quite dark still, but something about snow had an illuminating quality to it. Sarah rushed into it, though her speed was greatly diminished by frozen powder and she had to take greater strides. Large snowflakes clung to the Collinses; in Sarah’s long hair, Jeremiah’s eyelashes, melting upon impact with their rosey cheeks but lingering on their cloaks. At first Jeremiah just watched as Sarah practically galloped about; throwing the snow up or rolling around in it in a fit of mad giggles. It was an endearing sight, of course and he found himself laughing along at his young niece's antics. 

“I wish to make a snowman!” Sarah declared. 

“Alright, we’ll make a snowman.” Jeremiah glanced around, looking for some extra supplies like broken sticks and such. “What sort of fellow do you wish to make, Sarah? Big and tall? Small like you?” 

Sarah thought a moment then her eyes lit up. “I know who we can make! But we’ll need something special.”

Who indeed. “Alright. What do we need, oh snow master, Sarah?” 

An hour or so had passed since the grand idea, when Joshua Collins was awoken to the sound of laughter outside his bedroom window. He recognized it instantly. Sarah. And Jeremiah. And the laughter was most certainly not welcome at this hour, especially outside. He looked out the window and grumbled at the sight of a little one, dressed in pink rushing around with a much larger powder blue figure. Another grumble and Joshua grabbed his cloak and his riding boots. He was going to have words with his foolish younger brother and none of them appropriate for Sarah’s young ears. 

The frolicking pair didn’t notice Joshua approach, they were far too busy with their play to hear the crunch of his footsteps. 

“A-HEM.” Joshua exclaimed, as soon as he was in ear shot. Sarah froze first, and at least had the decency to look sorry, looking down at the snow with a little pout. But not his brother. Oh no, Jeremiah smirked quite widely. 

“Coming to join us, brother?” he asked, with a haughty tone.

“Of course not!” Joshua growled. “Look at you. Freezing to the bone, making a mockery of yourself, and dragging my daughter into it. Come back inside both of you before you catch your death!”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes and sighed. “If you insist.”

But it was then Sarah spoke up. “Would you like to see what we made?” 

Joshua glanced at the girl. “And what did you make?”

“A snowman. A very good one.” 

Joshua sighed. “Very well, where is it?” 

Sarah smiled and walked a little further out into the dark. Soon she stopped and held out her arms proudly to present to her father, the snow man she had worked so hard on. It was tall, just about Sarah’s height. With well rounded snowballs making it’s base and torso, no doubt rolled mostly by Jeremiah. The head was very round, nearly a circle. But it wasn’t the foundation of the snowman that had stirred an ire inside Joshua. It was it’s choice of dress. 

“Is that my jacket?” Joshua sputtered, staring horrifically at the snowy lumps donning his velvet cutaway tailored coat with the golden trim and matching brocade. 

Sarah nodded enthusiastically. “Yes it is!”

“Pray tell me, **_why_ **?!”

Sarah pointed at the snow creation, as if that explained it. “Because it’s you, Father.” She then grappled onto the edge of his cloak and tugged him closer to it. He obeyed his child’s whims until he was brought directly in front of the snowman. It came up to about his chest, with little stick arms no doubt picked up from a neighboring pine tree that were stuck through the expensive sleeves. Upon the frozen fellows face were pebble eyes and a frown. Above the stone eyes were tinier sticks broken in two, angrily tilted downward. No doubt to mimic eyebrows that were very displeased. On the side of the head were packed on leaves that were some crude mockery of whiskers. 

"Do you see now? It looks just like you!” 

“Yes, don’t you think Joshua?” Jeremiah gave his older brother a very pointed look. A look that said, _if you dismiss Sarah’s hard work, there will be hell to pay._ Joshua sputtered a moment, looking between his snowy twin and his young daughter. 

“Well it--I--” 

Sarah’s little face fell, and her lip wobbled. “You don’t like it, do you?” 

Suddenly and surprisingly panicked, Joshua knelt down on one knee, ignoring the stab of pain soaring up his leg from his gout. “No no, Sarah, I think it is a _wonderful_ likeness.” He took the child’s mitten clad hands in his own. “I was just surprised. For a moment I--...I thought I was looking in a mirror.” 

Sarah’s eyes brightened, but her smile didn’t return just yet. “Really?” 

Joshua nodded. “Yes. Really. Why this fine fellow and I could be twins.” 

Then, only then, at her father’s praises, did the happy little grin grace the girl’s face once more. “So you aren’t very angry with me?”

"No Sarah,” he assured her. “I’m very pleased.” 

Those words must have been like magic to her, for Sarah then threw herself into her father’s arms, wrapping her own around his middle and squeezing him tight. Joshua froze a moment, mouth moving slightly but no sound escaping him. Sarah always had hugs to give others, but always seemed so unsure around him. Almost afraid or hesitant. Very gently, Joshua Collins returned the embrace, perhaps not as fiercely, folding his daughter into a close cuddle. He could hear her let out a little squeak, muffled against his shoulder, before she nuzzled her face closer, squeezing him tighter as if she was afraid to let go. 

His eyes closed, briefly, before finally Sarah wiggled to pull away. He glanced over at his younger brother, who was staring in...shock? Surprise? Relief? His jaw hung open and his eyes looked wet, but surely that was from the snow and the wind and nothing more. 

“You’re very warm, father,” Sarah said. “Did you know that?” 

“Am I?” 

She nodded. “Mhm. Not--not warm like a fire. But warm and fuzzy like a nice blanket.” 

"I see,” Joshua’s lips twitched into the closest thing he had to a smile. Leave it to the imagination of a child. “Well, I am certainly glad to hear it.” With great effort, Joshua rose back to his feet, grunting a little as he did so. He brushed the snow from his trousers, though that did little against the wet snow. “Now, let’s get you inside and--”

“Wait! We can’t go inside yet!” 

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“We have to make snow angels first, right Uncle?” 

Jeremiah nodded solemnly. “It’s true, Joshua. We simply must make a snow angel.”

Before Joshua could form a response, Sarah fell backwards into the snow, her limbs outstretched. “Like this father.” she instructed and he watched as she waved her arms and legs up and down, smoothing out the fluffy snow under her body. This went on for a few seconds, before she reached her arms up and off the ground. Jeremiah then walked over and quickly plucked the girl off the ground and into his arms. “See?” the child said, pointing at the Sarah Collins shaped indent in the snow. The little form had what looked like wide angel wings and what might have been a flowing robe, it was crude of course, but simple enough. “And then you need someone to help you up, or else it doesn’t look right.”

Joshua scowled but nevertheless, made his way back down on the ground, grumbling as he lay flat on his back. “Now what?” he asked flatly. 

“Move your arms, brother,” Jeremiah didn’t even bother hiding his amusement. This was a glorious sight indeed. 

The Collins patriarch glared but, as Sarah had before, moved his arms and then his legs in an up and down fashion, though it was much more choppy. “Alright, I’ve done it. Now help me up.”

Jeremiah placed Sarah down beside her snow-father, and reached down to grab Joshua’s hands, of course the pair fumbled a bit so it wasn’t exactly a smooth transition. Once he was back on his feet, Joshua stared down at his snow angel in slight agitation. Next to Sarah’s beautifully angelic little creation, his looked positively monstrous, the wings were twisted and his feet and hand prints in their several attempts to get him off the ground and had marred the snow-thing, and part of his wing had overlapped with Sarah's. “Wonderful! I’ve made a snow demon. And now I’m cold and wet and freezing, such a glorious exercise. Thank you, Jeremiah.” he spat. 

His younger brother opened his mouth to argue when Sarah walked over towards the tops of the angels. She bent down and gave both of them circles above their heads. Halos. “It isn’t a demon father. It’s a very sweet angel.”

“Oh don’t be preposterous, child. Look at it. It’s hideous.” 

Sarah shook her head. Most adamantly. “He’s still being very good. Even if he doesn’t look it. If he wasn’t good, he wouldn’t be an angel. But he is.” She smiled up at her father. “And he’s even holding hands with my angel. See?” she pointed to the spot where part of the wings had touched. “He’s probably the best angel there is.” 

Joshua looked down at the snow creations once more, staring intently. Perhaps trying to see the angelic form his daughter did in the mangled thing he wrought. He almost could. Almost. “Well, if you say so, Sarah, I suppose that’s all that matters.” 

“I know so!” Sarah insisted, and ran back around to grasp her father’s hand. Jeremiah took her other one. 

“Very well, but now it’s far too late and far too cold to discuss it any further. Now let's get you warmed up and inside before your mother wakes and starts fretting.” 

The trio walked back into the large house, leaving behind their snow angels. In a few hours the falling snow would cover them up completely, as snow-Joshua stood by. But that didn’t matter. As no doubt Sarah would be out there come morning’s light, dotting the property with new little angels and snowmen to keep watch over the Collins Family


	4. Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your servant/friend/thrall really tried to get you a good gift.

**Day 4** \- _Sweater_

Barnabas Collins | Julia Hoffman | Willie Loomis

_Based off fanart by @barnabascollins on tumblr_

“It feels,” Barnabas Collins desperately looked towards Julia Hoffman for help. 

“ _Warm_.”

“Yes,” Barnabas agreed. Though not exactly convincingly. “Very warm.” 

“And soft, right Barnabas?” Julia nudged him with her elbow. 

“Hm? Yes...soft.” Barnabas narrowed his eyes, pulling at the bottom of his new sweater trying to understand exactly what he was looking at. It was deep forest green with two dark red stripes across the top of the chest with matching patches on the elbows and around the wrists. The shoulders had white reindeer proudly prancing upon them with little snowflakes near the hem. A line of Christmas trees marched from his right arm to the center of his chest where they were replaced with a carefully stitched and overlapping **B.C.**

Julia’s sweater was a soft blue, close to a periwinkle with white stitching on the elbows, wrists, and shoulders. Smack dab in the center was a golden, sparkly menorah with sparkly candles each lit with red and orange flame. Two stars of David stood proudly on either side where her collar bones were. Under the menorah in blocky font was the word **LIT.**

 **“** And you made them yourself?” Julia smiled, fussing a little with the sleeve. 

“Yep! I even made myself one. Hold on!” Willie darted up the Old House stairs. Leaving Barnabas and Julia alone. 

“They’re hideous,” Barnabas said, despairingly.

Julia quickly shushed him and slapped his arm. “Don’t you dare say anything to him!” 

“Julia—“

“Don’t!”

“Fine!”

Willie then called from upstairs. “I’ve got it!!” And both Julia and Barnabas plastered back on their smiles. Willie slid down the bannister and hopped off. “Ta-da!”

“Oh—“ Julia said

“—Goodness.” Barnabas finished. 

Willie beamed with pride. Arms outstretched so all could behold his fuzzy glory. It was a cardigan in two tones. One green with a red lapel and the other blue with a darker blue lapel. The green had white stars and Christmas trees while the blue had dreidels and menorahs. 

**MER-PY CHRIS-MUKKAH** it said. As boldly and as brightly as the smile of its owner. If Barnabas and Julia were being honest, it was probably the happiest either of them had seen Willie Loomis. 

“Whatdya think??” He asked, even giving the pair a little twirl so show off the combined embroidered tree/dreidel hybrid on the back.

“It’s…good lord..” Barnabas muttered. 

“Remember that time you beat the shit out of him in a cemetery?” Julia hissed. 

“...It looks nice, Willie.”

“Very nice,” Julia agreed. “Thank you Willie. We love them.”

Willie gave a little ‘aw shucks’ sort of shrug. “I-I wanted ya both to have somethin’ nice. And then I didn’t wanna pick one holiday over th’ other so...i did this!” 

“Very creative,” Julia assured him, looking back down at her own sweater. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Hanukkah sweater before. This really is lovely. “ 

“And I haven’t had a Christmas—,” Barnabas paused a moment, blinking. “Well anything really. Thank you. Really.” 


	5. Candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candles glow warmer when your with the people you love.

**Day 5-** _Candlelight_

Joe Haskell | Chris Jennings | Amy Jennings 

Joe Haskell and Chris Jennings stared down at the blackened mass that was supposed to be a potato pancake and sighed. 

“I told ya my oven was faulty.” Joe said, picking up the offending mistake with a forceful jab of a fork and tossing it in the trash. 

“I think you’re lucky you never set this place on fire,” Chris replied, and gave the stove-top a sideways glance. “Or maybe it’s just us. You know Tom was always the best at making latkes.”

“Yeah,” Joe sighed, also dumping the pan into his sink with a clatter. “Tom and your grandma Lenore. I don’t know what that woman did to make them taste so good.”

“Magic!” came a voice from the doorway. It was Amy, wrinkling up her nose at the burnt smell. “What happened?”

“We killed the latkes honey,” Chris said, defeated. “Well, Joe’s oven did at least.” 

Amy’s face fell. “But we can’t celebrate without latkes!”

“I know, I know. We’ll just have to make them tomorrow.” Chris knelt in front of his sister and smiled weakly. “We can still have a great first night without em, can’t we?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Amy relented, though her face was still crestfallen.

“Don’t be so upset, sweetheart. Tonight’s still gonna be fun. Don’t you want to beat Joe at dreidel?”

That perked her up. “Boy, do I!”

“Well, you set up for it and we’ll...try and salvage dinner, okay?”

“Okay!” And off she ran. 

Chris sighed, running frustrated fingers through his hair. “Our first Hanukkah together in years and we can’t even make latkes right.” 

“Hey don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s not a big fancy thing tonight anyway. We always usually kept things low key.” Joe said, opening a few drawers by the fridge and digging through them. He pulled out a pair of scissors. “Plus, I haven’t been to Synagogue in months. Last time Tom even looked at a Torah was probably your guy’s Bar Mitzvah. It doesn't have to be all, proper or whatever. It’ll be the most relaxed Hanukkah of our lives.” 

“If you say so,” Chris rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension in it but to no avail. “I just wanted it to be special for Amy.”

Joe opened his cupboard and pulled out a white box tied shut with red and white string, the _sufganiyot_ Maggie had specially slaved over for him. “It is special because she’s got you here instead of some doctor At Windcliff. Trust me, this is a million times better.” He cut the string off, with slight difficulty, and flipped open the box. The sufganiyot were a bit misshapen and the jelly was dripping out, but there was a lot of love and powdered sugar poured on to them, so it didn’t stop him from smiling at the sight. 

“We’ve got dreidel. We’ve got gelt. We’ve got each other,” Joe continued. “That’s all that matters.” He popped a treat into his mouth, and hummed in approval. “I don’t know how Maggie did it, but she pulled it off.”

Chris slid his hand into the box, grabbing a sticky morsel and taking a small bite. “Hey, that’s not too bad. I think it’s official. She’s a keeper.”

Joe beamed. “Don’t I know it.” 

The cousins headed into Joe’s tiny living/sitting/dinning/whatever-he needed-it-to-be room. Amy had already diligently prepared the center and right most candle on the menorah, a pile of chocolate gelt lay nearby in their golden foil, with a bright blue wooden dreidel eagerly awaiting its first spin, the **hay** side facing up. 

“Well Joe, shall you do the honors?” Chris fished his lighter out of pocket and tossed it to his cousin, who caught it two handed.

“Can I light them Chris?” asked Amy, batting her eyes.

“Maybe next year honey, when I’m not so nervous about you around fire.” Chris glanced out the window, it was long past sundown. Diligently Joe lit the middle candle. He then carefully lifted it out of the menorah and lit the first candle. 

“ _Baruch atah Adonai, Elohenu Melech ha’olam, shehecheyanu, v’kiyimanu, v’higiyanu la’zman hazeh._.”

Chris stared for a moment. Slightly enraptured by the flickering lights. At first he thought the feeling in the pit of his stomach was because Joe’s father’s menorah was silver; it always made him uncomfortable. But no, that wasn’t it. Was it Amy’s awestruck smile as Joe said the prayer, was it her giggle when Joe teased her about kicking her butt in dreidel, or her happy warbles as she sang. 

All of it maybe. 

It wasn’t dread or fear. It was a warm fuzzy feeling he hadn’t had for a long, long time. Maybe part of him figured it wouldn’t last. But hey, it was the season of miracles wasn’t it? If a little bit of oil could light a menorah for eight full days…

“Gimel!” Amy declared with delight, giddily claiming the pot of chocolate gelt for herself and tugging them towards her. 

“Maybe we should take Amy to Atlantic City,” Joe teased, looking down at his much smaller winnings. “We’ll put her on your shoulders and get you a trench coat.”

“Oh of course, it’s foolproof,” Chris smirked, and picked up the little top. It spun spun spun. _Shin_. “Dang. Maybe you’re onto something, Joe.” He looked down, he didn’t have a piece of anything left. 

“You can have some of mine, Chris.” Amy took a small chunk of probably ten chocolate coins and pushed them towards her brother. 

“Aww, thanks sweetheart—“

“As a loan!” She finished, grinned wickedly. 

Joe and Chris both exploded into laughter. Happily Chris took his loan, looking at the now giggling Amy and cackling Joe.

Yeah. 

Maybe it could last just a little longer. 


	6. Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Tree decorating can be chaos. With this family at least.

**Day 6-** _Christmas Tree_

Modern Day Collins Family

Barnabas Collins did not know the true meaning of Christmas. Barnabas Collins did not know why sugar plum fairies would be dancing in anyone’s head. Barnabas Collins barely understood why they needed a pine tree or how the Good Lord was somehow born in December now.

His confusion and befuddlement about this winter holiday season only amplified when his family insisted that they needed a Christmas tree. Luckily, the property was overflowing with pine trees of all sorts of sizes and shapes just perfect for chopping.

Elizabeth had explained that they usually had a small artificial tree. But upon hearing that Quentin became rather appalled. The very idea of a fake tree seemed to offend him. An artificial tree? For Christmas? At  _ Collinwood?!  _ This would never do. Not in a million years. So after some back and forth he enlisted the rather unwilling help of dear ‘cousin’ Barnabas, Willie Loomis, and young David in the great quest for a proper pine. 

It was supposed to take two, perhaps three hours at the most. 

By the time they returned with a tree it had been eight hours and Liz was on the phone with the sheriff to organize a search party. 

No one could properly give an explanation on what happened but they were all covered in pine needles, snow, and dirt and yelling over who started what. So, it must have been a typical Collins Family event. 

The lads had dragged in a rather large and healthy looking pine into the drawing room. Quentin leaned on the handle on the axe, hand on his hip, shaking several pine needles from his hair. “Well if I do say so myself, that might be the finest tree in the whole state of Maine.” 

Willie brushed dirt and tree bits off his bomber jacket and wiped away what might have been the remains of dried blood from his nose from getting smacked with something. “Thought th’ one I found was good too, but naaah,” he muttered, glaring over at David with a look that could kill. “Gotta get the  _ biiig  _ tree.”

David glared back just as hard. “It was too skinny and too stupid!”

“You’re too skinny n’ stupid.” he grumbled, loud enough for Barnabas to hear and hit him on the shoulder for it.

How many people does it take to put up a Christmas tree? It turned out: four Collinses, two Stoddards, two academics, two servants, and a partridge in a pear tree. 

Liz mumbled about the needles on her carpets and shot her brother dirty looks whenever he caused the high branches to bang into light fixtures or portraits. Now that it was up and just short enough to not bang into the ceiling, they had to decorate. 

Their usual tree had come pre-lit, already dressed up in it’s electoral finest for the ease of the family. This natural pine did not come with twinkling lights. They would just have to do it themselves. 

And that meant a trip to the attic. 

If the basement was a graveyard of old paintings, silverware and upholstery ignored and unloved; the attic was a mass grave of even older things that the Collins siblings hadn’t seen in close to forty years. Spiderwebs lay claim to the spaces between furniture, candlesticks, and shelves. Anything that wasn’t the happy home of a creepy crawly had a thick layer of dust blanketed over it. In fact, Roger pointed out that he could still see Mathew Morgan’s lumbering footprints on the floor from the Christmas two years before.

It didn’t take much digging to find the usual holiday cheer, which Quentin and Stokes happily took down to the waiting decorators, but Roger didn’t return to the drawing room until a bit later. He was grumpy and dusty and bruised and holding a box containing a tangled ball of holiday lights. 

“Wonderful!” Liz clasped her hands together, taking charge as per usual. “Roger, you’ll handle the lights,” she ignored her brother’s sputters of indignation. “Carolyn, you and Quentin can help with ornaments. Barnabas, you and Eliot and I can handle the drawing room. David you may decorate the windows. Willie, if you wouldn’t mind opening all these boxes and organizing. And Julia and Mrs Johnson can do the foyer. I’m sure with all of us, we’ll get this done in no time.” 

And with some mumbling protests said none too loudly, off they went.

Mrs. Johnson made quick work finding garland, big red and gold bows, and fake poinsettias. She handed the pile over to Julia and happily shelling out instructions to the good doctor on where to place everything. 

Professor Stokes took to hanging the stockings by the chimney with care, though whether or not Saint Nicholas soon would be there still remained to be seen. Barnabas was a bit lost. Really he just obeyed Elizabeth’s orders, trying not to seem completely bewildered by everything. He just pretended his surprise was at the difference in English to American customs. Stokes thankfully intervening whenever Barnabas found himself tongue tied. 

David was rushing about, the happiest he’d been in weeks, arms full of fake candles and little bows and wreaths. Whenever he popped back into the drawing room he smirked at the sight of his father mumbling curses at the endless tangle of string lights that had now wrapped around his legs or straight out laughed at Willie lost among boxes and bins. 

The whole of Collinwood was starting to feel more merry and bright, or perhaps it was the onslaught of Christmas music now floating through the air thanks to the wireless radio Elizabeth had turned on.

The tree was starting to look quite put together when Carolyn and Quentin ventured down into the basement to look for other decorations, as everyone swore they had more than what had been discovered. 

“Look what we found!” Carolyn shouted with a giggle, bounding up the stairs with Quentin in tow. She weaved past her Uncle Roger who was slowly becoming a mummy of rainbow lights and Willie who was positively drowning under piles of tissue paper, wrapping paper and bows. Gently cradled in her arms was a cardboard box practically falling apart at the seams, despite the tape slapped upon it in a desperate attempt to keep it together. 

“What’s in there?” asked Julia, who was wrapping garland around the banisters. 

Carolyn grinned and put on a rather airy, posh voice. “Why Doctor Hoffman, these are the Collins family name ornaments. A longstanding tradition!” She placed the box down on the table in the center of the foyer, sliding the telephone close to the edge. “We all have one, it’s a ‘first Christmas’ present.” 

She plucked out a bright pink heart with porcelain snow around its edges. She held it aloft so that Julia could see the silvery cursive reading  _ Carolyn.  _ She placed it on the table and then pulled out a wavy sort of icicle shape with  _ David  _ in blocky blue font. 

Liz’s eyes lit up, and she crossed into the foyer. “I knew we moved them somewhere else.” She too reached into the box, and out came her own ornament: a sphere of deep magenta and golden stripes sporting her name and the year of her birth. Next came Roger’s diamond-shaped one, painted the loveliest shade of green with silver accents. “Carolyn, why don’t you put these on the tree? Right in the front.”

Her daughter nodded, talking a bit louder as she walked further towards the tree in the drawing room. “Why don’t we put up the rest of them?” 

Liz looked down at the box, there were several other shiny and sparkly bulbs separated by tissue paper and cardboard pieces laying in wait. “Oh I don’t know, darling.” 

Quentin, who had been oddly very quiet during most of this exchange. “There’s one for each of the family, yes?” 

Elizabeth nodded. 

“I believe it started somewhere in the mid 19th century,” quipped Roger, still tangled in his electrical prison. “But yes, why don’t we? Might be a nice change from the usual ornaments.”

“I know. I’m just afraid of them breaking,” Liz held up the delicately decorated orange bulb with  _ Nora  _ written on it in careful print. “Some of them are over a hundred years old.”

Carolyn returned to the foyer. “Oh what’s the harm, mother?” she picked up a twisted one, in blue and green with the letters of the name  _ Jameson  _ splashed on each twist. “I think they’d make the tree perfect.”

Quentin looked into the box and picked up a faded and neglected one where the name  _ Tad  _ had chipped away mostly. “I’m with Carolyn. Let’s put them up.”

“And that means we have to get some for all of our new family members and friends,” Carolyn added, scooping up the box in her arms and heading towards the towering tree. 

Julia came down the stairs, satisfied with her decoration of the railings and met Barnabas at the doorway into the drawing room. “Do you have one?” she asked, softly so no one else could hear. 

He shook his head. “No, we didn’t celebrate like this in my time.” 

Stokes also sauntered towards the pair. “Our Quentin ought to have one in there. And Edith. And Daphne. All of them. Christmas was becoming far more popular in those days.”

Barnabas made a soft humming noise. “I’m still not sure I understand the point of this exercise.”

Stokes’ eyes twinkled, the way they usually did when he was eager to impart some wisdom. “Well, most of our modern Christmas traditions are based off of the celebration of Yule and some Pagan ceremonies. The Christian faith absorbed them, if you’d like, and thus the decorating of the tree and gift giving. And the new coinciding with the winter solstice moving Jesus of Nazareth's birthday celebration in the month of December.” 

“I understand,” Barnabas said, but the look on his face said otherwise. 

“Barnabas! Julia! Eliot! Come help!” called Elizabeth. 

The trio joined the family in the drawing room, Willie and Roger now free of their decoration confinements and were assisting with the ornaments. Soon everyone was eagerly placing the delicate heirlooms on various branches as well as the apparent ‘usual’ ornaments. 

David looked up at Barnabas with a grin. “We’ll get you one too, Cousin Barnabas. What colors would you like?”

“Oh. Purple and red, I suppose?” he responded, though still unsure. 

“We’re going to need a ladder to get the angel up there.” Mrs. Johnson grumbled. “There might be one in the hall closet,” 

“We don’t need it, I’m plenty tall.” Quentin picked up the angel, but even with his great height the top of the tree was just out of reach. “Hmm, Elizabeth may I borrow you??” Quentin dazzled with a smile, arms at the ready.

“Oh.” she said, a tad surprised. “Well, I suppose so.” Liz firmly grasped the angel, and turned to face the tree. Quentin put his hands on her waist and lifted her high up into the air with a firm grip. “I can just about reach.” Stretching her arms, Liz carefully placed the porcelain tree topper on the very top of the tree. “There!”

Dutifully Quentin returned his grand-niece to the ground. “Looks perfect.”

“It will look even better once we plug the lights in!” Roger, still disheveled from his adventures in detangling, stood by the nearest electrical outlet. “Ready everybody?”

“Ready!” They chorused.

And, thankfully, they turned on. The loveliest array of multicolored lights in big strawberry bulbs turned the drawing room into something magical in an instant, the red and green and blue and yellow splashed across the faces of the Collinses as they ooo-ed and aww-ed . Each precious ornament twinkled and sparkled, the garland nestled perfectly in each branch and the cracklings of the fireplace only made the scene terribly festive and cozy. 

“What a beautiful sight.” Barnabas exclaimed. 

“I don’t think it’s ever looked this good,” claimed Carolyn

“You know, kitten, I think I’m inclined to agree with you,” Roger slung one arm around his niece the other his sister. Willie Loomis shuffled closer to Julia and Barnabas while Stokes placed a kind hand on Quentin’s shoulder. Mrs Johnson gave David’s hair a ruffle.

It was the effort of all of them that made it all so lovely to look at. Of that they were certain. Now if only the holidays would be as sweet and as cozy as this moment, it would be a Merry Christmas indeed. 


	7. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rules of mistletoe are simple. The emotions under the mistletoe are far more complicated.

**Day 7-** _ Mistletoe _

Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard | Professor T. Eliot Stokes

“ _ No footsteps came, no voice, but only, Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely, Stooped in the still and shadowy air. Lips unseen—and kissed me there. _ ” Professor Eliot Stokes softly recited, looking upwards at the bright little sprig very carefully pinned to the doorway.

“That’s Walter de La Mare, isn’t it?” said a gentle voice behind him. “Well I hope you don’t expect to be standing there all evening.”

Eliot turned, a smile gracing his face. “Merry Christmas, Elizabeth.”

There she was, the mistress of Collinwood, wearing a beautiful short sleeved red velvet dress that fell to her knees.“Merry Christmas, Eliot. I’m so happy you decided to join us.” Her hand rested on his forearm, guiding him into the drawing room. Impeccably decorated, of course. He expected nothing less at the great house of Collins and at the direction of the mighty Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard. It was beauty in silver and gold and red and green, but empty. Not even Roger was standing guard by the liquor cabinet. 

“I’m happy to be invited, though I’m afraid I’m fashionably early,” Stokes admitted. His watch was an hour fast, but, perhaps it was really his own eagerness that got him out the door so quickly. He paused in their stride, glancing back up towards the little mistletoe. “All the better. I wanted to give you this.” From his jacket pocket he produced a tiny box, wrapped in shimmery blue paper, topped with a slightly squashed white bow (he had been nervously patting his leg to make sure he hadn’t forgotten it the whole ride to Collinwood).

“Eliot,” Liz gasped, her green eyes wide with surprise. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

He placed the box in Liz’s hands. “But I wanted to.” 

After a slight hesitation, she easily ripped the paper away. She opened the black velvet box slowly, resting inside was a pin; a brooch. Golden cursive letters  **E C S** , sparkling with little diamond chips embedded in it. It was gorgeous and refined and most certainly expensive. “It’s beautiful,” her voice wavered a little, full of emotion. She took the broach out of it’s little box, holding it between two fingers. It sparkled in the light.

“May I?” Stokes pointed at the golden gift.

Liz smiled, handing it to him. 

Delicately, the professor undid the clasp and carefully wove the sharp pin into the left side of Liz’s dress before closing it again. It looked lovely on her, but of course it would. It was impossible for Elizabeth to look anything but lovely.

Liz’s eyes looked downward, fingers lightly touching the brooch. It was hard to appreciate an accessory while you wore it. “Excuse me,” she said softly. So, still brightly smiling, she practically waltzed over to the mirror in the foyer. It had once been right beside the outside doors, but since then it had been moved to the opposite wall, beside the ornate grandfather clock. 

“It looks absolutely splendid, Eliot,” Liz exclaimed. And it most certainly did, standing out beautifully on the red fabric. 

Stokes stood in the doorway, watching her admiration. “I’m so glad you like it,” 

Liz moved away from the mirror, standing beside Stokes now. “I absolutely love it,”

The professor practically beamed with pride. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” 

The matriarch’s eyes drifted upward. “You’re under the mistletoe, Eliot.” Elizabeth’s voice was gentle, soft, playful even.

Stokes glanced upward, pulling out his monocle to check. “So I am. And so are you.”

When he looked back at the wonderful woman beside him he could see her cheeks were flushed just the lightest shade of pink. “Well, it is tradition,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Taking his pointer finger he lightly tapped his cheek. Almost expectantly. Liz smiled, closed her eyes and leaned in to press a kiss to the good professors cheek. 

Eliot Stokes turned his head, so her lips met with his.

He waited for the moment for her to pull away. For the awkward blushing and the stuttered apologizes and the brushing it off as a silly little incident. But she didn’t.

He could feel her arms wrap around his neck. And he placed his large hands on her waist in turn, drawing her closer, nearly lifting her off her feet. 

Did a few seconds pass? Minutes? Hours? Who knows. But eventually the need for air made them part. Their noses bumping together, their breath heavier, and all of that typical romantic nonsense.

“Oh.” Elizabeth whispered. 

“Oh, indeed.” Eliot repeated. 

“You know,” her voice was low, soft. Like she was speaking for his ears only. “I thought it was silly when Roger insisted on putting up mistletoe. But now, I’m so glad he did.”

“As am I,” Stokes leaned down to capture her lips again, less hesitant than before, but still as gentle. 

They could have probably kissed for minutes more. Maybe forever. But the stomping of excited footsteps drew them apart. Stokes' first impulse was to step away, to slip his hands away, but much to his surprise and delight Elizabeth kept their fingers firmly locked together. 


	8. Ice Skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are warmer and less slippery ways to hold your best friend's hands.

**Day 8-** _Ice Skating_

Carolyn Stoddard | Vicki Winters

“One. Two. Three. One. Two. Th--Vicki be  _ careful _ !” Carolyn cried. But it was far too late for that and Vicki Winters full on collided into a snowbank on the edge of the lake. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad. And slightly ironic. 

Carolyn quickly cut across the ice, her skates making a very satisfying cutting sound as they carved into the frozen water. She reached the Vicki-shaped lump right on the lakes edge and sighed. “I told you to be careful.”

Vicki sputtered on the snow and just managed to rise out of the fluffy and freezing prison. Though flakes clung to her hair, her eyelashes, her sweater, her everything. Carolyn tried very hard not to laugh, quickly covering her mouth and stifling any giggles that threatened to escape. “Are you okay?” 

Vicki huffed, actually sounding close to tears. “No. I’m cold, I'm wet, and now I’m bruised.”

“Hey,” Carolyn’s voice softened as she stepped off the ice and onto the snow. “I’ll help you up.” 

“No, I’m fine.” Vicki’s voice wobbled more, and she tried in vain to wipe away tears and melted snowflakes from her cheeks. The snow on her sleeves only made the effort more fruitless. She then attempted to wriggle her legs loose, lift herself up. To no avail. 

Carolyn sighed, took a few steps closer and grabbed hold of Vicki’s forearms. “And up we go.” With little effort, she heaved Vicki out of the snow and onto her feet. “C’mon, you were doing so good before that,” the blonde brushed down Vicki’s coat, her hair, her arms, pushing all the melting snow away. “One more go and the we’ll head back home. Promise.”

“I don’t know…” Vicki wobbled, but Carolyn grabbed her arms yet again to steady her. 

“C’mon. I’ll help you this time.” Carolyn helped her friend back onto the frozen water. Luckily years of practice on the icy lakes that Collinsport had on offer made the girl a very experienced skater. Skating backwards was no problem whatsoever. “Alright, so just hold onto my hands.” 

Vicki’s cold fingers grasped onto Carolyn’s warmer hands. But deciding that wasn’t enough, moved her fingers forward more to cling onto her friend’s wrists as well.

Carolyn rolled her eyes a little. “Vicki, I’m not going to let you fall. I promise.” 

“I know that,” Vicki protested, biting onto her bottom lip. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Just like before. One, two, three. Like dancing.” Carolyn stepped back with her left foot, and then gave a little push with the right to start up the momentum. 

Vicki shakily followed suit, almost like she was ready to march across the ice. “One...two...three..” she muttered, as she attempted to push off in a sort of stunted way, lifting one skate and then the other to propel herself forward. 

Carolyn grinned, even though they had only moved about four feet. “Good, keep going. One, two, three. Push, two, three--you’ve got it!” The blonde expertly and smoothly slalomed backwards, making sure she was far away enough from Vicki so their skates wouldn’t get tangled up but still keeping a tight grip on her best friend’s hands. 

“One--two--” Vicki’s right leg suddenly slipped out from under her, and she gasped. But Carolyn’s strong grip kept the older girl from falling straight on her back. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re doing so good,” Carolyn didn’t lessen her grip in the slightest. “Don’t stop.”

Maybe it was the determined look in Carolyn’s bright blue eyes. Maybe it was the comfort Vicki found in the kind squeeze of Carolyn’s hands. Maybe it was the unwavering belief Carolyn had in her despite everything. Who knows. But despite the near slip-and-fall, Vicki pushed on. 

Their ice waltz wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t smooth. And it sure as hell wasn’t elegant. But they were moving, gliding, and turning on the ice. Carolyn was like a rudder, guiding their course on the lake with large, slow turns. And it was starting to be fun. Vicki was smiling, and Carolyn was laughing as the chilly air whipped by, their brown and blonde hair fluttering about. 

Vicki never ended up letting go of Carolyn’s hands, even though the younger girl told her she could. That she could skate all by herself and she’d be fine. That might have been true. But it felt much safer like this. Safer and much more fun. 


	9. Snowballs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sibling winter battle, during a greater war.

**Day 9-** _ Snowballs _

Edward Collins | Judith Collins | Carol Collins | Quentin Collins

Who started it didn’t matter.

That wasn’t true.

_ Carl  _ started it and  _ Judith  _ was determined to end it. 

It was  **NOT** her fault that her brother Edward got in the way nor was it her fault that Quentin was an eager opportunist. 

And with that, a great battle had begun and the four Collins siblings were at the center of it all.

They were far too old to be having snowball fights anymore. 

Far,  **_far_ ** too old. 

But the spirit of competition that raged within any group of brothers and sisters burnt bright within all of them. 

And  _ none _ of them were willing to admit defeat. 

Carl lost his cloak running from Judith. Judith’s bonnet was gone with the wind while shoveling snow down Edwards' frock coat, and Quentin was wearing a scarf and earmuffs but heaven knows where they went to after Carl pelted him from behind.

Judith now stood with her back flush against a large pine tree. One hand was grasping a snowball, the other gripping a fistful of her skirts in hopes that the usually splayed fabric would not betray her location. That’s when she heard it: crunching: no doubt an approaching brother trying to be very quiet. But they weren’t quiet enough. She waited until she was certain which side of the tree they were on. The left. She then turned and stepped out to the left, throwing her snowball without really looking, only aiming to hit. 

And the snow soared through the air and hit... 

Nothing. 

Not a soul.

She froze, puzzled but then cried out as a snowball collided with her back. 

She whirled around to see the face of her attacker. “Quentin!” she screamed. 

Quentin laughed wickedly. “You ought to get your hearing checked, dear sister!” 

Judith tried to recover, grabbing loose snow to pelt it at her younger brother but his damned long legs carried him far away so that not a speckle of snow landed on him. But his victory was short lived, from behind a snowbank jumped Carl, with two fists full of cold powder. He leapt into the air, onto Quentin’s back and as both brothers fell with a thud. Carl smashed both hands into the side of Quentin’s face and neck. He then quickly scrambled off his brother and dove behind another bank of snow. Quentin heaved himself to his feet, brushing the snow loose but it still clung to his mutton chops in clumps. 

In the center of the clearing stood Edward, his top hat still stubbornly on his head though it certainly looked damp. His snowball was aimed squarely at Quentin but he was a fool. By then Judith had reached the battle ground and Carl had popped up from his hiding place. Quentin, in stumbling to his feet, had grabbed a healthy amount of snow. 

All three threw their snowballs at once. And all three collided one after the other with Edward’s face. They were all aiming for his mustache after all. He sputtered and choked on the ice and fluff and stumbled backwards, falling squarely on his backside. This of course sent Carl into a fit of giggles and Quentin letting out a single manic “HA”! Even Judith smirked. 

Edward stumbled back upward, his hat now lay abandoned and crushed. “That does it!” he shouted. 

“Well, at last Edward’s decided to take things seriously,” Quentin mused, forming a new snow ball eagerly. “Now things are getting interesting.” He looked at Carl and Judith in turn. “What do you say, younger sibling truce?”

Carl grinned wickedly. “Oh let’s!”

“Yes, why not?” Judith’s tone became very amused. “At least, for now.”

Edward gulped and quickly darted away, with his siblings hot on his heels. 

The truce, however, was short lived, as Carl couldn’t miss an opportunity to trip Judith so she face planted. 

The battle raged on, until all four siblings collapsed into heaps, side by side. 

“Well! I hope you’re all happy! We’ll all have the flu by tomorrow!” Edward barked, still breathless from all the running.

“Come now Edward, a little fun never killed anybody.” Quentin smirked. Flicking snow over his brother's chest. 

Carl was still giggling and gasping for air. “We—We haven’t done that since-...oh since we were children, remember Judith? Oh, it was such fun,”

“If I recall, you buried me in snow and only told Grandmama where I was when she said I’d turn into a snow monster,” Judith glared, but soon relaxed and leaned her very wet and tangled hair back into the cold hard ground. 

All four siblings looked upward, watching the falling snow with rapt fascination as they landed in their eyes, their nose, their lips. It was fun. And now it was quiet and calm and sound. 

Perhaps deep down they knew they’d never have a moment like this again, and wished to savor it. Quentin broke the silence, rising to his feet and assisting Judith to hers. Edward picked Carl up by his scruff, and the quartet of former warriors all quietly headed back into Collinwood, where the peace would not last.


	10. Snowed In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family that gets snowed in together, has not choice but to stay together.

**Day 10-** _Snowed In_

Modern Day Collins Family

The weatherman said four inches.

The weatherman was a damn dirty liar. 

Four inches? More like twenty four. 

And no one had been prepared in the slightest. 

Especially not those in the house high atop Widows Hill. 

While the great house of Collinwood was sturdy and strong, not even mighty brick and stone could protect pipes and drafty windows.

The Collins family awoke to find snow up to their knees and no way to leave the hallowed halls unless they fancied digging their way out with their great great-grandmother Edith’s good cutlery. 

David and Amy were excited, as children tended to be. A snow day and the adventure of being snowed in on top of it? It was a dream come true. 

Anyone above the age of twelve however groaned at the prospect. 

Elizabeth fretting with the state of the pipes and if the roof had been damaged anywhere. Roger was concerned about the electricity and of course the mess that they probably had to worry about at the cannery once they could burrow their way out.

If you were above the age of seventy-six like a certain Quentin Collins, you weren’t too concerned about much of anything including heavy snowfall. Unless of course the heating went. Carolyn moaned at being stuck, Maggie huffed over being unable to visit Joe and Professor Stokes was just amused at his luck of tonight being the night he decided to stay over in a guest room due to staying late to go over this or that with Barnabas and Julia. 

It was Mrs Johnson who gathered the troops to declare that the gas was out, and they wouldn’t be able to use the oven. Which caused plenty of moaning and groaning, even among the excitable children. They’d just have to rough it, and eat whatever was in the fridge, in case the power went. While the other adults fretted too and fro over this and that appliance. Julia Hoffman worried over their lack of contact with Barnabas Collins at the Old House. 

\----

Speaking of the Old House. Willie Loomis was slowly becoming a popsicle. The bitter cold actually woke him up. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise cause a few more minutes snoozing and he would’ve had to have been melted back to life. He quickly rushed around and checked the pipes, letting the taps run just slightly enough so they wouldn’t burst. He then pulled on as many layers as he possibly owned, cursed Barnabas Collins under his breath and began to bring the drawing room fireplace to life. He then checked the gas. No dice. And cursed Barnabas Collins again. Can’t have electricity Willie. Can’t have central heating Willie. Can’t have a telephone to tell anyone we’re still alive Willie. We’re going to freeze to death now, Willie.

Shit. Barnabas! 

Willie bounded up the stairs, down the main hallway and barrelled through the master bedroom door. “Barnabas!?” 

And there was the master of the house, wrapped in about six blankets standing in front of a fading fire in an ancient fireplace. “W-Willie,” Barnabas shivered. “I...I have decided to c-change my stance on--on--on heating.” 

“Oh thank god,” Willie moaned. “Look, I got th’ fire downstairs goin’, we got plenty of paper and firewood. We’re gonna make it.”

“Or Julia’s g-going to have to re-reanimate us both,” Barnabas nodded, his blanketed form shuffling towards the door. 

\----

Back at Collinwood, it had taken most of the adults to convince Julia NOT to endure the harsh elements to check on the Old House inhabitants. Out of fear that she’d get lost in the white wide world and never be found until everything thawed. 

Quentin had suggested they’d play board games to pass the time. 

Roger shouldn’t have suggested they monopoly. 

Well between Liz accusing Julia of miscounting the money, to David saying it wasn’t fair that Carolyn bought Park Place before him to Stokes trying to interject rather fun facts to return them all to some sort of peace, the game board had been thrown off the table and pieces scattered everywhere. 

Bored again and angry, everyone went off to their bedrooms to keep warm in their own form of solitude. Julia attempted to read the reports from Windcliff she had been pushing off only for her thoughts to return to Barnabas. But what else was new?

Elizabeth and Eliot had put on one of her few opera records and were playing it as softly as the player would allow. 

Carolyn was trying to read, but got bored and tried to gossip with Maggie but Maggie didn’t really have anything fun to add. But both girls were shivering in their sweaters and opted for snuggling under the infamous afghan. 

David and Amy however eagerly were exploring the house. Every nook and cranny they could. Though some parts of the house were much, much more cold than they expected. 

But as the day faded, the chill worsened, and like birds returning to the flock, everyone had made their way back to the drawing room wearing some sort of layer or blanket. 

“You know,” Quentin said, “I’ve been told body warmth does wonders against the cold.”

“...Don’t be vulgar, Quentin,” Liz said dryly, though both her and the good professor had suddenly turned a soft shade of pink.

“Not like that,” Quentin explained, though he filed ‘Cousin and Professor Dating’ under ‘things to tease someone about later’ in his mind. “I mean we all should huddle together. For warmth.” 

“Like a penguin?” Amy asked, peeking out from under the blanket fort she and David had constructed out of two chairs. 

“Yep.”

Roger sniffed. “At this point, I’m willing to try anything. Kitten?”

“Actually Maggie and I were cuddling in my room because hers was too drafty,” the blonde girl admitted. “It was kinda nice.”

“Kind of? It was toasty.” Maggie said. 

And with that, everyone sort of piled on together. Carolyn somehow was half on her mother’s lap, who was snuggled tightly against Professor Stokes. Quentin had weaseled his way next to Maggie, Amy and David, while Julia had been pressed up against Roger and neither were too happy about it. But they couldn’t move because Mrs. Johnson had cozied up and wouldn’t scooch an inch. But it worked. 

\----

Willie and Barnabas, much to their annoyance had opted for the same idea. They had become a blanket cocoon together in front of the roaring fire. 

“We shall never speak of this,” Barnabas glared.

“Aw, c’mon. This is nice. Admit it.” Willie smirked back. “Worried I’m gonna harsh your street cred?”

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about sometimes, Willie. You do get to be a bore,” 

Willie sighed. “Yeah, yeah, scooch over, my legs stickin’ out.”

“....Fine…”


	11. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Magi invented the art of giving presents. And set the bar high for everyone else.

**Day 11** \-  _ Christmas Eve _

Maggie Evans | Sam Evans

What do you get the man who wants nothing and has even less? It was the eternal question for Maggie Evans. For Father’s Day she could get away with getting Sam a new tie or shirt. On his birthday he simply put in paint color requests that she would happily drive to Bangor to fulfill. And on the other holidays in between a six pack of his favorite beer or a new bottle of bourbon was all he needed to be content. But Christmas? Christmas was another story. 

Because Sam Evans always made Christmas magical and wonderful even when money was scarce. Like when she was eight and all she wanted was a bicycle. They were barely scraping by and yet Maggie found a bright blue bike with white handlebars waiting beside their Christmas tree. The sticker said from Santa, but she knew better. 

For all the good Christmases he gave her, Maggie just wanted to give him a perfect one back. She always did her best, but it never felt like enough. But this Christmas was going to be different. 

She searched high and low until finally finding it in the shabby antique shop in Logansport. A paint holder case. But not just any regular holder case; an antique Winsor & Newton case. They were an old English company that made paint brushes, canvases, paints, you name it. If it was art, they supplied it. But it was terribly old and very, very expensive. 

But some of Sam Evans’ most prized brushes were Winsor & Newton. He treasured and barely used them, only when he had some sort of high end commission. He couldn’t afford too many of them. 

It was a miracle almost, how perfectly the case matched his brush set, even down to the well worn away wood and golden brown color. But then she saw the price; which was about five times her paycheck at the coffeehouse, and even if she had been saving for weeks, it still wouldn’t have been enough. Thank god Joe wasn’t with her, because he would’ve offered to pay for it or buy it for her, and she didn’t want that. As much as she loved Joe Haskell this was  _ her  _ gift for her Pop. 

Luckily the antique store and the five and dime in Collinsport were always accepting things of value. She could sell something. But what did she have of real value? Oh plenty of sentimental value. But money value? Very little. Maybe some of her books? Or some dresses? But they would be secondhand and not fetch as much. 

But there was one thing. One very special thing. 

A necklace. It had a real gold chain and a jeweled pendant on the end that looked like a daisy. Supposedly it was her grandmother’s or a great aunts. She used to wear it all the time when she was in high school, but the chain had broken at some point and she never got around to getting it fixed. She loved it but...she loved her Pop more than any necklace. Even one as special as this one. 

So a week before Christmas, Maggie took the necklace out of her jewelry box and went straight to the antique shop. She walked out with that paint holder set and nothing but joy in her heart. Pops was going to be so excited when he opened this, and he’d never have to know what she gave away. 

The Evans’ cottage was a warm, cozy sight with twinkling rainbow lights on a fine little tree topped with a star and a small fully lit electric menorah on the window sill. The smells of dinner filling the air and classic Christmas tunes were being whistled by Sam as he poured a glass of eggnog. His pipe in hand, he called to his daughter: “Dinner nearly ready, Maggie?”

“Almost!” the young woman called, entering the living room wearing a cheerful red apron with Santa’s cheery face on it. “I hope you're hungry.”

“For your cooking? Always,” Sam handed Maggie the eggnog and popped his pipe in his mouth. “Are the illustrious Collins of Collinsport still expecting us on Christmas Day?”

“Yep,” Maggie smiled. Mrs. Stoddard had invited them, eager to host the first holiday party Collinwood had seen in nearly twenty years. “I’m actually looking forward to it. Collinwood actually looking cheerful.”

“Or maybe we’ll be visited by three spirits,” Sam said, wiggling his brow. 

“Oh Pop,” Maggie laughed, and pecked her father on the cheek. “Happy Christmas Eve, you big goof.”

“Happy Christmas Eve, darling!” Sam Evans said with a smile. “Well, since we’ll be having a tea party with the Collinses, why don’t we open some presents?”

Maggie took a swig of the eggnog, slightly puzzled. “We’ll have plenty of time, Pop.”

Sam puffed on his pipe and shook his head. “Well, I’m eager for you to open this one. Come on, one present won’t hurt.”

“Alright, in that case I’ll give you yours too.” Maggie knelt beside their tree and pulled out her father’s present. 

Sam slowly blew out smoke and placed his pipe down on a nearby ashtray. “Wonderful!” He sat on the sofa and pulled out a little red package with a taped bow. 

Maggie placed the gift into Sam’s lap and then sat beside him. He then handed her the little box. “You go first, darling,” he insisted.

She quickly tore into the paper and found a little velvet box, she raised an eyebrow at her smiling father and opened it. Inside was a shimmering silver necklace neatly coiled inside. It was absolutely beautiful. 

“I figured, since the other one broke, it was high time your sad sack of a father replaced it,” Sam beamed. 

“Oh Pop, it’s a new chain for my—“ Maggie’s voice cracked, faltering. “For my necklace..”

“You don’t like it?” Sam looked absolutely heartbroken for a moment. 

Maggie quickly grabbed her fathers hands. “No! No, I love it! I just—why don’t you open your present and I’ll explain.” 

Sam frowned but nevertheless took the carefully wrapped parcel off the coffee table and ripped into the green paper. Carefully placed inside several layers of tissue paper was the Winsor & Newton paint holder. The beautiful wood had been shined and the glass newly cleaned. Inside Maggie had placed several pans of paint, new and ready for use.

He sat there, staring in disbelief at it. Good god it was a perfect companion to his W&S brush set. Tears swelled in his eyes and he hastily wiped them away. “Darling, it’s beautiful. It’s perfect even but—”

“Don't say anything yet. I...I sold my necklace.”

“Maggie!-”

“Shh!” She looked down, playing with the hem of her dress. “Don’t yell at me Pop. I wanted to give you something really special this year and I didn’t have the money, so I sold it. And I’d do it all again tomorrow.”

Suddenly Sam started to laugh. And cry. His face turning red as he clutched at his present. Maggie looked up at him, bewildered. But that quickly turned to fierce concern. “Pop? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Oh Maggie, my girl what a pair we make. I sold my Winsor brushes to get you that chain for your necklace.”

Maggie gasped. “Pop you didn’t!”

“I did,” her father chuckled, near hysterically. “I did. I can’t believe it. It’s almost comical.”

“It would be funny if it weren’t so…” Maggie trailed off, as Sam continued to laugh and wipe away tears. It was almost infectious and soon she was laughing and crying too. 

Sam pulled his daughter into a tight, fierce hug, rubbing her back soothingly as their laughter soon faded. “Oh what are we going to do with one another?”

Maggie’s grip on her father tightened. “...I don’t know, but this is certainly a Christmas we won’t forget for a long time.”

“Indeed,” Sam released her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Maggie. The best present I could ever ask for is a wonderful daughter like you,”

“And I’m lucky to have the best pop a girl could ask for,” Maggie smiled.

Sam tutted. “Now now Maggie, no lying, Santa’s watching.” 

That caused another round of giggles between the Evanses. Eventually the pair finished their lovely Fish filled Christmas Eve feast, and turned on their little transistor radio to listen to work carols as the Eve turned to Day. 


	12. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God rest these merry gentlemen, so usually full of dismay.

**Day 12** \-  _ Christmas Day _

Modern Day Collins Family and Company

Twas the morning of Christmas and all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Well, maybe a bat or wild dog was, but that was neither here nor there. At least not until the eager footfall of a certain David Collins tore down the hallway and into the bedroom of Quentin Collins “It’s Christmas!” He screamed, jumping onto the bed. Quentin woke with a start, but before he could even yell back, the boy had already sped off and practically dove into his aunt Elizabeth’s bedroom. “Wake up! Wake up! It’s Christmas!” The little boy threw himself at the slowly waking form of the family matriarch, rolled off the bed and ran to his next victim. In his father’s room he gave a repeat performance and again in Carolyn’s room. 

Carolyn threw a pillow at his retreating form but it completely missed. But he was right. 

_ It’s Christmas.  _

Before any of the other Collinwood residents could even make their way to the drawing room, David was already there. Eagerly bouncing on the sofa and admiring the practical pile of gifts awaiting under the well-decorated tree. Gold and blue and silver and purple sparkly paper wrapped with white bows. Bags of red and green overflowing with matching tissue paper stuck with tags proclaiming the name of their soon-to-be-recipients. 

“Hurry up,” the boy cried. “Come _ooon_!” 

“The presents aren’t going anywhere,” Mrs. Johnson tutted, wrapped up in a dark bathrobe and holding out a mug to the excited boy. 

“Thank you,” David chirped, taking a large gulp of the hot chocolate. “But they’re taking forever.” 

Of course, just at that moment, Roger appeared in the doorway. “Really David, you ought to learn some patience.” 

David sheepishly took another sip. “Merry Christmas, Father.”

Roger sighed, giving a sort of side smile. “Merry Christmas, indeed.” 

A few seconds later, the rest of the troops appeared dressed in their finest sleepwear. Groggy but relatively cheerful. Elizabeth took charge, as per usual. As the usual Collinwood residence took their usual spots; Carolyn on the fireplace bench, Roger in the office chair, David on the sofa and Liz handing out the presents by the tree, she instructed Quentin to sit next to Carolyn and Julia to take the piano bench and move it closer. She also insisted Mrs. Johnson sat and joined them.

David first received presents from Santa Claus. He was certainly of an age where he probably didn’t believe in Santa anymore, but went along with it anyway. Especially since Liz had gone out of her way to keep the magic alive for a year more, special wrapping paper and different handwriting on the tags, and of course, eaten cookies. He received the new comic books he wanted, a brand new ‘Mr. Fantastic’ action figure, and one of those fancy new electric toy cars. Everything the young boy wanted. He gleefully thanked everyone and then set about handing out his gifts. He couldn’t buy anything yet really, but manages to get a few trinkets. But drew the family a picture each. He was starting to become a very talented little artist, and even insisted he didn’t trace at all. 

From Quentin, the family received various sweaters, dresses, and blouses, all in their usual style and colors. Carolyn early handed out rather personal gifts ranging from a new copy of Hemingway for her mother to an expensive sherry for her Uncle Roger. Roger was never the world’s best gift giver and opted on giving Mrs. Johnson, Julia, and Quentin checks. While Carolyn got a new bracelet, Liz a new pair of diamond earrings, and surprisingly a sketch pad for David. Julia gave the ladies lovely new scarfs, while Roger got a necktie and David the newest Hardy Boys book. Elizabeth, finally able to purchase gifts in person rather than ordering through a catalog had the most personal gifts out of everyone. As per usual. Little things that meant something to each person. Even Mrs Johnson had things to give away in forms of actually edible baked treats. With presents now opened, the family dressed in their holiday finest and heading into the dining room for a special breakfast. Roger mixed together mimosas and proposed a toast. 

“To the first of many happy Christmases to come, may we keep the fighting this year to a minimum,” he said, to which everyone gave a little ‘here, here’ and clinked glasses. 

Eventually Barnabas Collins showed up, with Willie Loomis carrying various presents. He had gone a little overboard. He still didn’t quite grasp the whole Christmas thing and had indeed panic shopped later than perhaps was allowed. But nevertheless, here he was. 

He was just about to tell Willie to leave when Elizabeth stopped him. “Nonsense, we have plenty of food. You’re more than welcome to stay, Willie.”

Willie’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “A-Are...Are ya sure Mrs.Stoddard?” he asked.

Liz simply gave a well meaning glare. “Willie, if I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have said anything. Now come on, we’re having appetizers while we wait for Professor Stokes.” She took the young man by the arm and led him into the drawing room. 

Barnabas grumbled a little but at the sight of a smirking Julia, perked up. “I suppose I’m a little too late to wish you joyous Hanukkah, Julia?”

Julia’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes but, I’m surprised you remembered.”

Barnabas’ eyes glimmered but ignored her comment. “May I also wish you a Merry Christmas or is that in bad taste?”

“I don’t mind. And a Merry Christmas to you too.” Julia linked arms with the Collins cousin and tilted her head towards the drawing room. “We should join them, but how are you liking Christmas so far?”

“I don’t know. There’s still very much I don’t understand,” Barnabas huffed. “I suppose it’ll take several Christmases for me to understand all of it. But it’s brought the family together. So I suppose there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“It’s done more than that,” Julia nonchalantly pointed at the chit-chatting family. “It’s forced everyone to play nice.”

“Thank heavens,” Barnabas nodded. 

“Shall we?” Julia asked, but then there was a knock at the door. The pair unhooked their arms so that Julia could answer the door to a slightly shivering Eliot Stokes. He was holding some covered crockery no doubt containing whatever food-offering he had whipped together to add to the table. 

Greetings were exchanged, food passed on to Mrs. Johnson, coats taken, and so on. Eventually everyone was in the drawing room. It wasn’t the happiest or rowdy party. Even with Roger in charge of drinks no one was over the top drunk. They moved from appetizers to relaxing and then enjoying a full meal full of roast beef and vegetables and potatoes in one course too many. 

Then came the desert, and Roger, Carolyn and David grimaced as Liz came out holding what looked like pudding. “Now don’t you start,” Liz tutted. “It’s family tradition.”

“A gross one,” Carolyn muttered. 

“Honestly Liz, we couldn’t have forgone the pudding this year? We have company,” Roger wrinkled up his nose. “I’m terribly sorry you all have had to endure this.” 

Julia raised an eyebrow and shot Barnabas a questioning look, he just shrugged, and gestured to Quentin for help. But he looked just as puzzled. 

“What’s wrong with pudding?” asked Julia, causing a chorus of groans to cut through the air and pleasant music. 

“Stop it,” Liz said sharply, before addressing Julia across the table. “It’s a very old family recipe. Possibly two hundred years old, and every year for as long as anyone can remember we’ve made it for Christmas. It’s..” she paused, searching for the right word. “An acquired taste.”

“It tastes like motor oil,” Carolyn said flatly. 

Quentin Collins’ eyes lit up. “Is it supposed to be lemony?”

“Yes,” Liz placed a serving spoon into it. “But it doesn’t taste like it.”

Barnabas sat up a little straighter. “Does it happen to also have a tinge of sherry? And nutmeg?”

Liz raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes. You don’t have to eat it, you two. It’s really just an old habit--”

“No no, please. I’d love some!” Quentin eagerly held out the good china to the matriarch. 

“Me too,” Barnabas added. 

Everyone looked at the two Collins cousins as if they had grown three heads. But nevertheless, Liz set a spoonful of the pudding on each of their plates. Eagerly the two took a spoonful and let out contented hums. 

“Delicious,” Barnabas mused. Quentin, mouth still full just grinned and nodded. “It tastes just as I remember.”

“You’ve...had this before?” Stokes asked. The question nearly caused Barnabas to choke on his spoon. 

“Well--yes, ah, it’s a recipe that my ancestor quite enjoyed. So it was tradition for my branch of the family too,” he said quickly, far too quickly. Julia kicked him in the shin under the table, causing him to wince a little.

Quentin swallowed hard. “Same. The original Quentin loved this stuff. Guess some traditions just last through the ages.” 

“And you really like it?” asked David, bewildered as anything. 

The cousins exchanged a look and then nodded at the boy. 

David turned to his aunt. “Does this mean I don’t have to eat it?”

Liz sighed. “Fine, yes it does.”

As Carolyn and Roger began to argue their case not to partake in the ancient pudding, Julia hissed at Quentin and Barnabas. “What was that about?”

“We ate this all the time for the holidays,” Quentin explained with a shrug. “I always liked it.”

Barnabas smiled warmly at that. “Well, I’m happy to hear that. At some point we came up with the recipe when I was a boy. My father couldn’t stand it but it was a favorite among everyone else. I...can’t believe it’s endured the test of time like this.”

“Like us,” Quentin added, taking another spoonful. “Mmm. Delicious.” 

“Though I don’t know why it’s a Christmas treat.” Barnabas looked down at the lemony treat and batted it with a spoon.

“These things happen,” Julia said, with a sharp look. “But you two need to keep it together.”

As the daylight faded quickly, as it tended to do in the dead of winter, and the candles and twinkling lights provided the gathered friends and family comfort and joy, Elizabeth sat down at her piano. A few keystrokes is all it takes for mostly everyone to recognize the tune. Carol of the Bells. She just meant it as a sort of background news or some other form of entertainment for her guests. But Carolyn and David began warbling the words and soon it became a little off-key concert. 

Everyone was half singing, half laughing; they didn’t sound good at all. But that didn’t matter. Peace on earth had come to Collinwood for the brief minute it took for those within the four walls to sing to the end. It wasn’t going to last. Every song ended, just like how every year the holidays ended. The trees died. The candles would burn out. And the paper would be thrown away. But maybe after decades of turmoil, the universe was going to grand Collinwood one brief moment, of a good, loving Christmas. 


End file.
